


gods should have disciples

by thorelyn



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: AKA, Adam as the bearer of golden fruits of knowledge to tempt one lost soul to join another, Adam the man of mystery; the man of life provides them, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Claire the burning phoenix seeks answers, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, i have a lot of emotions, i wish the writers had gotten these two to interact somehow, why can't we have nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorelyn/pseuds/thorelyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking at Claire is not a glance in the mirror, and it is not a broken reflection. It is more of a look back in time (a gag-worthy notion). The red blush of her skin is pure. Her blood is not the red of revolution but the red of life; the gentle curve of her cheekbone is the cursed petal of a cherry blossom, the light in her eyes is not filtered but hopeful. </p><p>She is not broken, but she seeks mending-why not let his own hands fit pieces together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	gods should have disciples

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not associated with NBC and the show Heroes in any way!

There is still something innocent about her, Adam decides.

Meeting others like him-truly like him-is a pleasure (displeasure) that Adam has yet to run through in his life. 

In all of his lives.

But as he sees the young woman, Adam feels a shift. The ability to live forever, to be a god among men, is not something to be taken lightly. There is a weariness that rests on her shoulders; she has been lugging around a burden that none have truly understood. Not even Sylar, in all of his self-proclaimed wisdom and with all of his abilities, could truly understand that one solitary feeling of being alone in the world while cursed to live forever. He has other abilities; he is capable of so much more than watching the world destroy and rebuild itself time and time again. A man with so many powers walks the fine line between god and monster. But a man who lives on, and on? He is a god. His life, his immortality, is punctuated by death; death is the only disease that can grasp at him, ghostly fingers trailing along arms that cannot grasp its phantom hand to be led into the afterlife. There is only life after life, after life. No afterlife awaits a man like Adam Monroe, and no afterlife awaits a woman like Claire Bennet. 

And what a burden such knowledge is.

Certainly, the fine lines by her eyes betray this. Her life is one that has been filled with pain, up to this point. But now, it seems void of it-and in that void comes more than she can bear. The burden of feeling no physical pain creates an endless torrent of emotional pain. She rips her nails out and drinks up her own blood; she thrashes her own back and rips her skin apart to the bone, just to watch it stitch itself back together again. Just like the world, she destroys herself, only to be rebuilt once again. Before, she did this to test, perhaps-just how much pain could she take, how much suffering could she endure?

Now, its to try and regain what she has lost.

~

For a long time, Adam looked to the stars for guidance. He found his way in the world following the points and maps laid out by the constellations, as if the gods themselves set it in place for him to study.

He had plenty of time to learn it all, didn’t he?

And he did. Constellations shifted, they passed out of the sky, but always returned the next year. And the next. And always.

Some things, he whispered to himself in the dead of night, could be impassive with time.

He was himself-wasn’t he an embodiment of the heavens? Wasn’t he, a man with life eternal, a man of the gods?

Wasn’t he a messiah come to this world, to lift the mortals and provide moral foundations and guidance? There was purpose, but there was pain; there was always pain, too much pain. His heart grew heavy, his mind grew bleak. But when he closed his eyes, he didn’t see faces-he saw the stars, whose lines and burning he knew intimately. He could each his hand out to caress the soft curve of maps written in the skies. Over time, he forged those maps-it was his creation, not a creation of a greater power

It was his own divinity that made the world; it was his own divinity that conceived guidance in the night.

~

“You have sought me out, Miss Bennet, to try and help you feel pain. Correct?”

“Yes.” Her eyes practically plead for his assistance. It figures; offspring of the Company would pierce through veils of lies to be a golden beacon of truth. “How can I feel human if I don’t feel pain? You know what its like, to have this...curse. You know what its like to be numb to everything that’s supposed to hurt. You have to know something, right?”

There’s a soft tint to her skin-a touch of innocent, a glow of purity. But she is nothing fragile. Claire Bennet is a crack of thunder-pure, incorruptible, pure. But even the sound of thunder can be muffled. What defines it can be changed, views can be altered, and the idea of thunder can be vastly skewed. Where thunder is immobile, ideas are fluid. Ideas are deadly, one learns, after many cycles of lives unresolved. 

Looking at Claire is not a glance in the mirror, and it is not a broken reflection. It is more of a look back in time (a gag-worthy notion). The red blush of her skin is pure. Her blood is not the red of revolution but the red of life; the gentle curve of her cheekbone is the cursed petal of a cherry blossom, the light in her eyes is not filtered but hopeful. Despite what she says, her pure nature is blinding. She says she is broken, and she seeks mending. But, she would heal on her own. Most healing, however, needs guidance.

Why not let his own hands fit pieces together?

“We can’t recover pain, Claire. What we lose, we lose.” Light seeps out of her eyes. Now, perhaps, is his chance-now he can gather a lifelong disciple. Let him paint himself on the cross, and let her be the vast and ageless desert that grants his divinity and yet treads that thin line of temptation. Adam takes a step closer to Claire, and opens his palms to her as a gesture of good grace. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make our own recovery. And if you remain in touch with me, we can recover together. Who better to span lifetimes with than one familiar face? Pain is unifying, but familiarity is a comfort that we cannot go without. I’ve seen too many faces, Claire.” He almost convinces himself with his own sadness. “I’ve lost too many in my life. You, already, have lost many, and those numbers only add up. Let there be a constant.”

~

Stars were never there for guidance.

That was what Noah taught her, when she incessantly tugged on his hand to go out on a breezy summer night, the sweet kiss of honeysuckle drifting in the Texas air. They stayed out all night, and Claire asked question after demanding and seeking question about the skies that were unfolded in front of them. Weren’t they for the taking?

No, her Dad had said. Stars do not exist to guide those who see them; their burning fire does not exist to offer warmth in the cold of night, nor do the stars join together to create maps and worlds merely for greedy, fleeting hands to take hold of. The stars burn because they burn, and they take their own fires and own wills from within themselves and make themselves. They do not take shape for others.

Claire had to smile with that as she nestled snugly into her Dad’s side, one hand rubbing at a sleepy eye. That was what she wanted to be-she wanted to be a star, and burn not for others but for herself. And if she offered help along the way, and offered guidance? Even better. If she could help people, shouldn’t she?

Guidance and help, after all, are divine.

~

There’s a span of silence-how long, he cannot gage, nor can she. Time is, in such moments, expendable. Can Claire look into the face of a god and see her own reflection? Can she conjure great divination from what appears as a man, yet is a stone; one who seems to have lived since time itself was born? Lifetimes come and go with every word spoken from his lips; he could even become the stars themselves, if he chooses. That is the greatness in immortality-it is defined by death and one’s own longevity, yet it can shine and be omnipresent and heavenly.

An immortal man can be revered by all.

Claire studies Adam’s face, and his eyes remain focused on hers. They burn together, in that moment, and all of the future moments to come. Adam burns because of stars, and Claire burns as a star. Both offer light, but what is one star alone when greater guidance can be offered when welcomed into the ranks of others? Her slight smile comes to her face, and she gives a nod of her head.

“Maybe we can help each other.”

“I think we can, Claire.” Adam places a hand on her shoulder, briefly, before retracting it. It is already a poisoned touch; he can see a flash and wish for more in her eyes. To feel equal to another, and to feel so lost in understanding with another soul; it is a weakness he long abandoned but never forgot. It is her weakness, and it is his strength. “We will do may great things together.”


End file.
